


I Could've Been a Maths Teacher

by Brihna



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Gift Fic, Hurt Q, Language, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Pre-SPECTRE, Pre-Slash, Protective James Bond, Protective Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6671467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brihna/pseuds/Brihna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Q learns that his own branch can be a very dangerous place.</p><p>Written for and inspired by the lovely art of Brilcrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could've Been a Maths Teacher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brilcrist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brilcrist/gifts).
  * Inspired by [00Q untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/193018) by Brilcrist. 



> For the comic that introduced me to this bloody big ship.
> 
> http://brilcrist.tumblr.com/post/36105468259/00q-comic-part-01-for-channeling-my-anger

Q was not having a good day. It was bad enough that he’d slept through his alarm that morning and missed his train, in spite of having skipped breakfast in an effort to make it on time; but the moment he entered the building he’d encountered at least half a dozen system issues that required his immediate attention. So as a shot rang out in the middle of Q-branch, causing him to send his favorite mug crashing to the floor, his first irrational thought was- _oh, this is just perfect._

He spun on his heel, prepared to berate whichever of his bloody interns thought it was funny to discharge a firearm in the middle of his branch, only to freeze where he stood. The gorilla of a man holding what was most certainly an illegal semi-automatic was _not_ one of his interns.

Several more shots rang out as a second gunman entered the room, a few rounds piercing the monitor on the wall behind his head as Q finally came to his senses and ducked behind his desk. Across the room he heard someone screaming. He reached up to press the concealed panic button beneath his desk- the one he never imagined actually having to _use_ \- and tried to approach this logically. Two gunmen, three exits, six of his staff plus two interns. Peeking around his desk he could see blood pooling on the floor on the opposite end of the room and his heart leapt to his throat. He had to get them out of here.

Glancing around for something to serve as a distraction, he spotted R crouched against the wall, one hand already inching toward the fire alarm. They locked eyes for a moment and he gave her a nod. As the gunmen strode further into the room, she reached up and pulled.

The siren wailed as the sprinkler system began to douse the room with water, causing some of the computers to spark. This served to distract the gunman, at least momentarily; allowing most of Q’s staff to filter through the exits. Q would fret over the loss of tech later. Realizing what was happening, one of the gunman turned his sights on R as she ushered the remaining staff through the door. He leveled the firearm at her head.

“No!”

Q leapt out from behind the desk, grabbing a stool and hurling it as hard as he could at the man’s head. The shot ricocheted off the ceiling as the stool caught him in the face and Q dove across the aisle, pulling R down with him behind the room of desks before the second man could open fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed. “Now they’ve seen you!”

“Run,” he commanded, pushing her toward the exit. “I’ll distract them, just get out of here.”

“Q-”

“You are _not_ permitted to die for me, do you understand?” he ground out as a shot pinged off the desk behind their heads. “Now, go!”

He shoved her toward the exit and leapt out from behind the desk, drawing fire in the opposite direction. Once he was sure she was clear, he dove through the nearest exit and slammed the door behind him, initiating the lock sequence that would cut off this wing from the rest of the underground tunnels.

With the gunmen secure, Q turned to head down the hallway- and nearly tripped over a body at his feet. He pressed his back to the opposite wall, a hand flying to his mouth as he suddenly felt the urge to be sick. A security guard lay sprawled in a pool of blood, his unseeing eyes staring vacantly into space. Q stood paralyzed for a moment as he struggled to remember how to breathe again. Then he spotted the comm link in the man’s ear.

Swallowing down another urge to vomit, he crouched down and carefully retrieved the device; relieved to find no trace of blood on it. He fitted it into his ear in time to hear a voice on the other line.

_“…report!”_

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Q speaking, do you copy?”

 _“Q?”_ came the voice he now recognized as Tanner. _“What the hell is going on down there? We’ve lost contact.”_

“Hostiles in Q-branch,” he explained, making his way down the hall. “Two gunmen, whom I’ve trapped in the control room. But for them to get all the way into the heart of Q-branch, I have a hard time believing this was just a two-man job.”

 _“Christ,”_ said Tanner. _“Casualties?”_

“I can’t say how many for sure,” he answered, remembering the pool of blood in Q-branch but having not seen the source. “The guard I took this comm link from is dead.”

 _“We sent in 007 when- I’m assuming you- tripped the alarm,”_ said Tanner. _“I’ll put him through to you. He can get you out-”_

A chunk of plaster exploded from the wall just inches from Q’s head as he rounded a corner. He scrambled backward as another shot followed. “Shit.”

 _“Q?”_ came Tanner’s voice in his ear. _“What’s happening?”_

Q was already running. “Make that three gunmen,” he panted, ducking around the next corner. His side was killing him. “Anybody have eyes down here?”

_“We’re working on it.”_

Q stopped a moment as things got quiet, annoyed at how out of shape he must be to already have a stitch from running such a short distance. He pressed a hand to his side. It came away wet with blood. “Oh, shit,” he breathed, his body beginning to react to what adrenaline had masked before. Suddenly his whole side was on fire. He was starting to feel dizzy. “Tanner… I’m hit.”

 _“Q?”_ came another voice. _“Where are you?”_

“007?” He pressed a hand to his side, the other braced against the wall as he began to inch forward, finding himself increasingly unsteady on his feet. “I’m in the east wing, headed towards storage.”

_“You’re hit?”_

“Lower left side,” he answered breathlessly. “But I haven’t bled out yet, so hopefully nothing major.”

Bond cursed. _“Can you hole up somewhere until I can get to you?”_

“Don’t think I have much choice,” said Q. “This hallway seems quiet enough.” He lowered himself down in a corner, his breathing becoming increasingly labored. He couldn’t have made it another step if he tried.

 _“I’ll be there as quick as I can,”_ said Bond. _“Just keep talking.”_

“What should I say?” he asked, trying to keep pressure on the wound.

 _“Let’s talk about how you’re the one who’s supposed to talk_ me _through_ my _exit strategy,”_ he said. _“Not the other way around.”_

Q chuckled in spite of himself. “Well, I must admit,” he said, “when I accepted the position of Quartermaster I didn’t expect to get shot. At least not in the bloody office.”

 _“If you can call these sewers an office,”_ muttered Bond.

“You’re right,” said Q, his eyelids feeling heavy. “We should move Q-branch somewhere else. Maybe… the Tower of London.”

_“Why the Tower of London?”_

“I don’t know,” he answered. “High up. Closer to… satellites?”

_“Q, you’re not making sense.”_

“Then again, maybe I should reconsider my career in espionage after this,” he rambled on. “Become a maths teacher. My grandfather was a maths teacher. What do you think, 007? Maths teacher is a cool job, isn’t it?”

 _“Well, at least you’re less likely to get shot,”_ said Bond.

Q took a deep breath, struggling to keep his eyes from falling closed. “Where are you?” he asked, his words beginning to run together.

_“Nearly there, Q. Just stay on the line with me.”_

“Cold down here,” he said, eyes half lidded. “Getting tired.”

 _“Just hang on a little longer,”_ urged Bond. _“I’m coming to get you out-”_

There was a loud crack over the line; the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Then silence. Q’s breath caught. “007?”

He heard footsteps approach and a man who was most certainly _not_ Bond rounded the corner, taking in the appearance of the wounded Quartermaster with a predatory glint in his eye.

“007, they’ve found me.” He swallowed hard as the man leveled the gun at his head. “James…”

“Q.”

There was a loud crack and the wall of a man crumbled forward, revealing Bond at his back, gun smoking.

For a moment Q stared, transfixed at the man before him, wondering if he was hallucinating. He could hear Bond speaking to someone over the comms, but everything was beginning to sound fuzzy. He started to pitch forward, but strong hands kept him upright.

“Hey, I’ve got you.” Bond pressed his forehead against his, calloused fingers brushing his cheeks. “Q, look at me.”

He sounded far away. Why did he sound so far away?

“Q? _…Q!”_

Then there was only darkness.

* * *

“Q!”

James cradled the prone figure against his chest, smoothing back his hair to feel cold and clammy skin underneath. He was deathly pale. He pressed two fingers to the side of his throat, feeling a weak but steady pulse there. James shifted, putting his back to the wall and hauling the younger man onto his lap, gun in hand. He laid Q’s head against his shoulder and used his free hand to put pressure on the still bleeding wound at his side. The seconds that ticked by felt like hours.

_Where the bloody hell was medical?_

Finally, the medics rounded the corner and James holstered his gun, clutching Q tighter against his chest. When the medics reached them, placing a stretcher at his feet, he found himself reluctant to let go. He removed Q’s glasses, placing them carefully in his breast pocket, and could only stand by and watch as the younger man was quickly divested of ruined shirt and cardigan. The wound at his side was still bleeding badly; dark red against pale skin.

James followed close behind as they wheeled him out to the waiting ambulance. There was a brief moment in which Q opened his eyes, struggling weakly against the oxygen mask on his face and the many hands holding him down. James took hold of his hand, pushing his way into his field of vision. Hazel eyes blinked up at him first in confusion, then recognition. He lay still once more, clinging to his hand.

James was forced to let go as they loaded him into the ambulance and the doors were closed to him. He stood on the pavement as they drove away, not moving from that spot until the vehicle was well out of sight.

* * *

Pain.

As Q opened his eyes to an obscenely bright light, all he knew was pain.

He felt a rising sense of panic as different faces drifted in and out of his field of vision, none of them familiar. He remembered someone holding his hand. James. Where was James? He wanted to voice this question, but the mask over his face prevented him. The next moment, a man with a surgical mask was leaning over him, speaking words he couldn’t hope to make sense of right now. Then his eyes fell closed of their own accord as he felt the pull of a drug induced sleep.

When next he awoke, he was lying in a hospital bed in one of those awful gowns with far too many lines attached to his person. The pain in his side was now a dull ache, likely muted by whatever drugs he was on. As he slowly opened his eyes, hushed voices filtered in through the open door to the hallway, but he could only detect snatches of conversation.

“…our own Quartermaster… complete disaster,” he recognized M’s voice.

“We’re doing the best we can,” said Moneypenny. “…completely wiped out. …not a lot to go on.”

“…responsible for the deaths of three MI6 employees…” said M. “…security… top priority.”

“I’ve got it covered,” James’ voice rumbled nearest the door. “Right now, I don’t think it’s a good idea for all of us to go barging in-”

“We need answers,” said M.

“For Christ’s sake,” grumbled James. “He just got out of surgery. I think he’s been through enough for one day.”

M sighed. “Alright. But let me know the minute he’s talking.”

A set of footsteps, he assumed to be M’s, retreated down the hallway as James and Moneypenny began speaking again in hushed tones.

“He’s angry,” said Moneypenny.

“Of course he is,” answered James. “We all are. …bloody fucking nightmare.”

“Well, keep me posted,” she said. “I want to know how he is after…”

“I know.”

“You two take care, okay?”

Q could hear the distinctive ‘click’ of her heels as she retreated down the hallway. Then James’ footsteps following after her.

“One more thing,” said James. “I wondered if you might do me a favor…”

Q closed his eyes as the footsteps returned to the room and he heard the soft ‘click’ of the door being closed. There was a rustling as someone settled into a chair beside the bed, and he detected the familiar scent of gun oil and musk. He lay there, feigning sleep for a few moments longer, before finally opening his eyes. He blinked at the man beside the bed, having a difficult time bringing him into focus without his glasses, and greeted him hoarsely. “007.”

“Q,” he answered cordially, a small smile playing on his lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” he answered mildly. “But you’ve been shot lots of times and I’ve never heard you complain.”

“Well, I can’t say it’s an experience I’d ever hoped to have in common,” said James.

Q searched his face, a deep sadness darkening his hazel eyes. “Who have we lost?” he asked.

James frowned. “Q-”

“How many deaths am I responsible for? I want to know their names.”

He leaned forward in his seat, his expression hard. “No one is holding you responsible,” he said. “Don’t do this to yourself, Q.”

“I need to know, Bond,” he answered.

James sighed. “Two in security. Officer Chase and Officer Weston, whom you found. And… one in Q-branch.”

Q swallowed. His throat felt tight. “Who?”

“Anthony Stevens.”

“Tony.” Q closed his eyes. “Jesus, he was only twenty-three. Straight out of uni.”

“Q,” James rested a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

“I’m head of the department. It’s my responsibility to-”

“You had no way to prepare for something like this,” he insisted. “No one should have been able to get that far-”

A loud knock preceded the opening of the door and a man Q could only assume to be the doctor entered followed by one of the nurses. “Mr. Hawthorne,” greeted the doctor, using one of his aliases. “Good to see you awake.” He turned to Bond. “Would you mind stepping outside for a few minutes?”

James gave a nod and rose from his seat, turning to Q once more. “We are not through talking about this,” he said just loud enough for him to hear, and he turned on his heel and slipped from the room.

* * *

Except that Q, it seemed, _was_ through talking about it. When James reentered the room, he lay curled on his side, his back to the chair beside the bed. His eyes were closed but it was quite obvious- to a double-o at least- that he was feigning sleep. With an inaudible sigh James lowered himself into the chair, listening to the steady beeping of the monitors. The Quartermaster lay still. He would wait.

Of course, there was no denying that he was a stubborn little shit. James sat for hours, occasionally slipping from the room to get updates from Moneypenny. Late into the afternoon she dropped by once more, carrying a package and alerting James that M wished to speak with him downstairs.

“Why not just use the bloody phone,” he grumbled before Eve slipped from the room, leaving him alone with his Quartermaster once more. He turned to the figure lying on the bed.

“Q?”

He did not stir.

James sighed. “How much longer are you going to pretend to sleep for?” He placed the package Eve brought him on the side table and stepped closer to the bed. “Look, I understand that you still don’t want to talk about it, but it’s over now. Everything’s been taken care of.” He reached out a hand, sliding his fingers through soft curls- something he’d thought about doing for months now but had yet to be presented with an opportunity. “And about the maths teacher thing; I was joking, okay?” He leaned in close, nosing just behind his ear. “I’d rather have you here.” He pressed a kiss to dark curls, lingering for a moment before he straightened, turning toward the door. “Be back in a minute,” he said, and he slipped from the room.

* * *

Q lay stunned as the door closed behind him with a soft ‘click.’ After a moment he rolled onto his back, grinning like an idiot as he caught sight of the Scrabble mug on the bedside table- an exact duplicate of the one he’d shattered that morning. “Damn it, James.”

He sank into the pillows, struggling to get comfortable again after laying in the same position for so long. By the time he got settled his side was hurting him again. He closed his eyes as the pain flared, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass. He opened his eyes again as he felt a hand on his head, meeting James’ crystalline gaze with surprise. He hadn’t heard him come in. There was a deep furrow in the older man’s brow.

“You’re hurting again,” he said. “Should I call the nurse?”

Q opened his mouth to protest, but another sharp pain cut off his reply. He nodded.

It felt like ages before the nurse came and went, forcing him to endure further poking and prodding before he finally got some relief. He kept his eyes closed through most of it, yet all the while he was aware of fingers stroking through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. When the drugs had fully taken effect he opened his eyes again, blinking up at the older man curiously.

“What’s that look for?” James murmured, continuing the idle motion of his fingers.

“You kissed me,” Q stated groggily.

James smirked. “I’d hardly call that a kiss.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “No.” James leaned closer, flashing that smile that had charmed countless women into his bed. He could swear the light danced in his eyes- or maybe it was the drugs altering his perception. “But I’d be happy to give you something to compare it to.”

The hand in his hair trailed lightly along the side of his face before coming down to cup his jaw, a calloused thumb brushing his cheek. Q allowed his eyes to fall closed as their lips met, and if the drugs hadn’t made him high enough already, now he was in the clouds. It had been a hell of a day, but he supposed it could’ve been worse.


End file.
